


The price of living

by Jonah_Smith_907



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Angst, Catholic Guilt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Foggy is pissed, Frank is unexpectedly soft, Human Disaster Matt Murdock, Hurt Foggy Nelson, Hurt Matt, Hurt/Comfort, I Don't Even Know, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Matt's an idiot, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Suicide Attempt, but not abandoning his best friend, fluff comes a bit later tho, guilt complex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:46:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25429399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jonah_Smith_907/pseuds/Jonah_Smith_907
Summary: Claire let out a deep sigh. She seemed tired, now. Worn out and worried. “Look at his arms.”Foggy glanced at them shortly, refusing to discover any more proof of all the danger Matt had put himself in. “What about them?”“Look at the scars. Do those look like they're from a fight to you?”His stomach dropped. He could feel panic rising up to his throat, making it hard to get out the next words. Of course he realized what these thin lines were. He knew. And yet he couldn't believe it. “What … what do you mean they're not from fighting?”“They're too neat. Too small.” Again she looked at him, her expression so sad, Foggy couldn't hold her gaze. “I think he cared. A lot.”This was the first time Foggy cried that night. The first that he could remember, anway.God didn't want Matt to live. But he didn't want him to die, either.READ TAGS FOR TRIGGER WARNINGS
Relationships: Frank Castle & Matt Murdock, Matt Murdock & Franklin "Foggy" Nelson
Comments: 15
Kudos: 101





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a while since the last time I posted but I just re-watched Daredevil twice in the past few days and just had to write something. I don't know yet where this is going but we'll see I guess.

Foggy had had a really shitty night. He'd been drinking too much, thinking too much and wallowed in self-doubt for way longer than he should have. Now, all he wanted, no, all he needed, was a friend to talk to. His best friend. So here he was, knocking on Matt's door, calling for him to let him. But all that greeted him, was silence. A dark and frightening silence. A silence that felt like nothing good could come out of it. An unsettling silence.

Then there was a crash.

“Matt?” Foggy could feel his heart-rate picking up, could hear the blood rushing in his ears. “Are you okay in there?!” He tried opening the door, only to find it locked. Without a second thought, he ran to the roof access, entering the dark, empty apartment. “Matt?” he called again. “It's me. I heard a crash. Not the fun, sexy-time kind. More of the I've fallen and I can't get up variety.” Carefully, slowly, he walked down the stairs. “Matt?” This was not what he needed tonight. Not after Mrs. Cardenas' death, not tonight. Foggy didn't know what he'd do if he found his best friend injured, unconscious, or even dead. 

He pushed that thought aside and proceeded downstairs, only to find the bottom of the stairs to be broken. As if something heavy had fallen on it with force. Foggy swallowed hard, trying desperately to contain his fear, to just keep going and help his friend. He saw Matt's cane leaning against the door and quickly grabbed it, holding it above his head. Ignoring his shaky voice, he yelled: “If anyone who's in here is not supposed to be, I will mess you up, I'm not kidding!!”

Whatever he'd expected to happen, it definitely wasn't the man in black, slowly staggering towards him, holding one hand to a deep gash in his abdomen, while the other one swayed on the other side, as if unsure of what to do with itself. 

For a moment, Foggy just stood there, frozen, a thousand thoughts racing through his head. What had he gotten himself into now? And if this man was here, then where was Matt? “Where's Matt?” he asked, gripping the cane a little tighter. “What'd you do to him?”

Instead of giving him an adequate answer, the man in black took another step, gave a pained grunt and collapsed right there and then. 

“Shit!” Foggy dropped the cane, fished out his phone and dialled 911. It rang a few times, before he hung up. He wasn't sure why he did, but something told him he had to know who this guy was. It might be his only chance of finding out what had happened to Matt.

He got on his knees and reached for the mask with shaking hands. He pulled it back – and his entire world collapsed into a pile of shambles. 

“Matt?” 

“Is he gonna be okay?”

“Well I got the bleeding stopped, if that's what you're asking.” Claire took out a bandage and gently put it over the big cut she'd just finished stitching up. “Apart from that, I can't tell you.”

“Has he ever … you know, told you how he does all … this?” Foggy asked. He looked at this man on the couch, this man he used to know. But now? Now he he felt like he didn't know him at all. 

“I think you should ask him that yourself. All I can tell you is, that he does what he does to protect the city he loves. And the people in it.”

“He lied to me!” he snapped, running a hand through his hair. “For all these years, he lied to me without even thinking about it! Like it's okay!”

Claire turned to look at him, eyes dark, brows furrowed. “Do you really believe that?”

“I don't know. I don't know if he cared about it. I don't know anything about him anymore.”

She let out a deep sigh. She seemed tired, now. Worn out and worried. “Look at his arms.”

He glanced at them shortly, refusing to discover any more proof of all the danger Matt had put himself in. “What about them?”

“Look at the scars. Do those look like they're from a fight to you?”

His stomach dropped. He could feel panic rising up to his throat, making it hard to get out the next words. Of course he realized what these thin lines were. He knew. And yet he couldn't believe it. “What … what do you mean they're not from fighting?”

“They're too neat. Too small.” Again she looked at him, her expression so sad, Foggy couldn't hold her gaze. “I think he cared. A lot.”

This was the first time Foggy cried that night. The first that he could remember, anway. 

Claire gave him a small, gloomy smile. She didn't need to say anything else. It wasn't her place to tell Foggy anything more and they both knew it. Then she packed her things and quietly left the apartment. The sound of the door closing was the only thing disrupting the quiet sobs. 

Foggy was standing in the kitchen when he heard Matt's breath hitch, a soft groan along with an even softer “Oh God” escaping his lips. He could see his hand reaching up for the back of the couch, as if to pull himself up. 

“I wouldn't do that if I were you.” He walked over to the couch, holding a beer in his hand. Already, he could feel the anger rise up again. He'd had it under control up until now. “Then again, maybe I would. The hell do I know about Matt Murdock.”

“F-Foggy?” Matt's voice was scratchy, shaky, scared. As if he was just as shocked to find himself not alone, as Foggy had been to find out about his secret. 

“Yeah.”

“Did you stitch me up?”

“Nope. That was your nurse friend.”

He seemed to search for words before he croaked: “Claire?”

“You had me get a hold of her after you took a swing at me for trying to get you to the hospital.”

“I … I don't remember." He frowned. "Sorry.” 

“She was hot, by the way.” Foggy scoffed angrily. “But I guess you already knew that, huh?”

“Foggy-”

“Just tell me one thing, Matt! Are you even blind?” The words hung in the room, waiting for an answer. Matt seemed taken by surpise by the question, quickly followed by defeat. Then, finally, he started to explain.

Foggy tried to understand it. He really did. But he couldn't. He couldn't bring himself to believe it, to believe that Matt was some kind of super-human in ninja-form. He couldn't bring himself to believe, that this man in front of, the man he'd thought he knew, had somehow managed to hide so much from him. And that, even though he was a shitty liar. Apparently some secrets were worth putting in the extra effort. “Yeah okay, world on fire, I got it! But you can see, right?”

Matt took a deep breath, trying and failing to keep a neutral expression on his face. “Yeah. In a manner of speaking. But I-”

“No!” Foggy interrupted angrily. “No manner!” He stepped closer to Matt and held a hand to his face. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

Matt's face fell. “One.”

He dropped his hand. “All these years. I felt sorry for you.”

Now it was Matt's turn to sound angry. “I never asked for that! I never – I never asked for that!”

“Well I didn't ask to be lied to.”

“What did you expect me to say? Hi, I'm Matt, I got some chemicals splashed in my eyes and now I have freakishly heightened senses?”

Foggy threw his hands into the air. “Well maybe not lead with that.”

“I didn't even tell my dad after it happened," Matt quietly said. "I told nobody.”

“You should have told me. I thought we were friends.” Foggy took a deep breath, trying to keep his tears inside, trying desperately not to show how uncertain he was about whether they could still be friends now. After this. There were some things a friendship couldn't survive. 

“We are.”

Two words. Only two. And they felt like a knife to the heart. “Then why didn't you tell me?" Foggy asked through the tears welling up in his eyes once again. "Why didn't you trust me to keep you secret?”

“Because I was scared, alright?" Matt snapped. He took a few breaths to calm himself before he continued:"Because now you have to lie, too. Because this secret is dangerous. People who come close to me, are put in danger. They get hurt. They get killed. And if anybody finds out about me? Then you are in the line of fire, too.”

“Karen and I would be in the line of fire either way, Matt. Do you really think anybody would believe that we didn't know about this?” He scoffed and pointed a finger at his own chest. “That I didn't?”

“I just tried to keep you safe.” He sounded defeated. Like he had accepted his fate, whatever that would be. 

They sat in silence for a while after that. Both trying to make sense of the situation. Trying to figure out where to go from here. But one thing they both knew: Matt would have to talk about everything. Explain everything. No exceptions. 

Eventually, Foggy cleared his throat. He didn't really want to ask this question. For one, he wasn't ready to let go of his anger. He also wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer. Again he cleared his throat. “When Claire stitched you up. I told her I didn't know if you even cared about lying.” 

Matt raised an eyebrow. There was something like fear in his eyes now. “What – What did she say?”

“She told me to look at your arms.” It felt like a bomb had just been dropped into the silence that followed. 

Matt's entire body tensed, his chest rising quickly, breaths short and fast, eyes wide and … scared. 

It pained Foggy to see Matt liked this, like he was falling apart right in front of him; clearly not comfortbale with having to lay his soul bare. After all, there had to be a reason why he was always so closed off about his feelings. Why he notoriously refused to talk about them. Finally Foggy forced himself to continue. “She said they were too … too neat to be from fights.”

“I-I … I don't-” His breath hitched, his hands curled into fists, clenching and unclenching in an uneven rhythm. “Why … why would she … what-”

“You cut yourself.” Foggy could feel the tears behind his eyes again, ready to fall. His heart hurt from a pain that wasn't his. “Why … why did you do that Matty?”

“I … I'm sorry.” Matt now clutched his blanket desperately with both hands so hard his knuckled turned white, pulling the fabric up to his chest as if to protect himself. “I'm sorry.”

“I just wanna know why? Why would you do that??” He so desperately wanted to take Matt's hands into his, tell him it was okay, tell him everything was okay, but it wasn't. It wasn't okay, it wasn't … it wasn't okay.

“I … I lied to you.”

“I know that.”

“I … every time I lied to you.”

Foggy froze. His breath caught in his throat, fear spreading throughout his body at the realization of what had been going on. For years. “What … what are you saying?”

“One cut. For every lie.”

Everything stopped. And the tears fell.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, sorry about that

Foggy couldn't stop himself anymore; he rushed to the couch, fell on his knees and pulled his friend into a tight hug. He could feel the other man's tears leaving warm spots on shirt, their bodies shaking from their sobs. 

For a long time they sat like this, simply holding onto each other, as the knowledge seeped through them, that they were gonna be okay. They had to be. It didn't mean that Foggy wasn't still angry, but he understood now, that Matt lied because he wanted to protect his friends. Not himself. But for some reason that didn't make it any better. 

“I'm still pissed,” Foggy eventually whispered. 

“I know,” Matt croaked. “I'm sorry.” He inhaled shakily and added: “I never meant to hurt you.”

The blond nodded. “I know. I think I do, anyway.” Again they fell quiet for a while, until Foggy spoke up: “Why do you do this though? Why go out every night, why put yourself at risk? Why don't you just … stop?”

“I don't want to stop.” Matt rather abruptly pulled away from the hug, fingers lingering softly on Foggy's arm for a second longer, before folding his hands in his lap and looking down at them, as if remembering what they'd done. “If I don't go out, people get hurt.”

“And what about you? Are you saying that they're worth more than you are?” Foggy held back an annoyed huff. Annoyance was all he could muster at this moment. He was too exhausted to find it in him to be gentle anymore. “You can't just put everyone above you, Matt.”

“Why not? A woman being assaulted deserves help. A child being abducted deserves help. An innocent man being shot by the police deserves help.”

“You deserve help, too.”

“Really.” Matt huffed out an ironic laugh. He looked up, tilting his head to the side. It looked to Foggy like Matt was trying to challenge him. “Do you really think that?”

Something on Matt's face; maybe the look in his eyes, maybe the way his lips were pressed into a thin line, or maybe the empty smirk that didn't contain any real emotion; made Foggy hesitate to answer. “Yes,” he finally said. Quiet, as if unsure of himself. 

“You said it yourself. I beat people up.” He somehow managed to point his eyes directly at Foggy's, which was a first. “And maybe it's not just to help people.” He clenched his jaw. “My grandma always said: Be careful of the Murdock boys. They got the devil in them. My dad would sometimes show it. He'd have that look in his eyes and his opponent would know. He'd try to get away, but my dad would catch him. He'd beat him and he wouldn't stop until he was finished.” Matt lowered his head and ran his fingers over the stitches on his chest. “The devil in me let's me save people. He also let's me throw people off a rooftop and beat them into a coma.” He shot another look at his friend. “Do you still believe that I deserve help? Because maybe I just belong in a prison cell.”

Foggy let out a shaky breath. “I … where is all this coming from??”

“I've had this conversation with you in my head a thousand times. I've thought of many things you might think of me. The good and the bad. Mostly the bad.”

“I'm not saying you should be in prison!” He shook his head in disbelieve. The stubbornness of this man was gonna be the death of the both of them. “I'm saying that you deserve help with the whole cutting-thing. Because it's not healthy, it's dangerous and it makes me worry.”

“It's not that simple.”

“Why not?”

“What do you expect me to do? Go to some therapist and say 'Hey, I'm Matt Murdock, a lawyer at day and a vigilante at night and I hurt myself for lying to my friends, nice to meet you'?”

“Well, maybe you could talk to your priest about it?” Foggy could feel himself losing patience, could feel the anger rising back up, yet he didn't want it to. he just couldn't understand, why Matt never accepted help. 

“I am talking to him. It doesn't help.”

“Then what? Are you just gonna keep doing it? Because I don't want you to! I want you to be safe and not drown in self-hatred.”

“At this point it's like an addiction, Foggy. And addictions don't care what others want.” Matt's voice had gone cold and he knew. He knew he was being an ass. He knew he was pushing Foggy away. And yet, he didn't stop. He let out a sigh. He couldn't even tell if it was out of frustration or fear. Fear of letting somebody in. He'd pushed everyone away; his whole life he'd pushed people away, that were trying to get close. He didn't know any other option. Anything else had always ended in pain. “It's fine.”

“You just told me all this shit about you basically being possessed by the devil and having an addiction and you're telling me 'It's fine'??” Foggy snapped, turning away from Matt and running a hand through his hair. “It's not fine.”

“Whether it's fine or not, you can't change it. I don't want to change it.” 

“Yeah or maybe you just can't and are too damn afraid to admit it!"

“Maybe,” Matt quietly agreed. He sighed heavily. He'd hurt Foggy. And now he was going to lose him. It broke his heart, although he figured at this point there wasn't much left to be broken. “Either way. You don't have to stay if you don't want to.”

“I don't think I do right now.” Foggy grabbed his coat from the back of the couch. “I'm telling Karen you were in a car accident.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” He hesitated for just a second before turning around and leaving.

Matt let out another heavy sigh. He wasn't sure why he'd sent Foggy away. Perhaps he just couldn't stand the anger or the worry or the pity any more. Or the knowledge that his friend now thought he was some kind of damaged damsel in distress that needed saving from himself. He didn't. He was fine on his own. He'd figure this out by himself; and anyway, now that Foggy knew, maybe Matt didn't have to cut so much anymore. 

That's what he told himself. Even though, deep down, he knew that he was lying to himself. He'd find other things to blame himself for. He was good at that. Probably better than he should be. 

But hey, who would he be, if he wasn't in pain all the time? What would that even feel like? It wouldn't be him. It wouldn't feel normal if there was this famous warmth in his heart instead of the cold and lonely dread that accompanied him everywhere. Right?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, I know, but I think it's better this way, keeps me motivated I suppose.
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: suicide attempt
> 
> And yes I'm messing with the timelines a lot as it turns out

Matt had stayed home for two days before he he couldn't take it any more. Always inside, no work to go to, no cases to work on, no villains to beat up. No distractions for his racing thoughts. 

He started questioning why he was on this earth to begin with. If God had wanted him to be good, why had He put the devil in him? If He had wanted him to lead a good life, a stable life, why had He let him become this haunted, hurting vigilante; feared, chased after, left alone? 

Matt couldn't draw a conclusion that provided him with a satisfying answer. Of course he could go to Father Lantom and ask for his advice, but he didn't want to. He didn't want to discuss God's ways anymore. Because Matt always ended up making the wrong decision. He always ended up making some kind of small mistake that would turn into a huge mess so very quickly and leave him in shambles.

Finally, with something like a grim sense of accomplishment, he realized that he did not want this anymore. He couldn't keep going like this, torn between two lives; lives so vastly different, that it felt like he was being ripped in half. 

His mind fell silent. He noticed the absence of thoughts, the absence of emotions that should have been there. Those emotions that had kept him going for so long now. Had kept him alive. He couldn't find it in him to care. 

He didn't think about Foggy. Or Karen. Or Father Lantom. For once in his life, maybe for the first time in his life, he was tired of only ever thinking about everyone else. Maybe Foggy had been right when he'd said Matt shouldn't put everybody else above himself. 

He slowly walked to his closet and put on a warm hoodie. He figured it would be cold outisde. Then he stepped over the broken stairs and went to the roof. 

Frank was finally done. He'd finally avenged his family's death, had finally gotten the revenge he'd so bitterly craved. He couldn't say that it helped that much; he was still hurting. He could still feel that hole in his heart that his loved ones had once filled. But at least now they hadn't died in vain. 

He was just patrolling the rooftops of Hell's Kitchen, visiting the locations he could now only remember as scenes of violence and blood. His blood. 

As he was wandering around, making his way from one building to the next, he came across a dark figure standing on the edge of the roof. Head lowered, as if staring down at the ground. Something about their demeanour made Frank anxious. Of course he didn't know what was going on. He didn't know why that person was standing there, simply staring without moving a muscle. He did, however, know that he should go over and make sure they were okay. 

After all, Frank might be a murderer, but he wasn't an asshole. Or at least so he hoped. 

The closer he got, the more familiar the man became. Frank just couldn't quite place where he knew him from, until he recognized that head-tilt. The way he held himself; his body tense, fists clenched by his sides. 

“Red?” Frank called. The other man's head shot around, fists now brought up in front of his chest, ready to fight. He looked confused. Frank figured it was because the vigilante hadn't expected Frank of all people to show up and reveal him as the Devil of Hell's Kitchen. “What are you doing up here?”

Red opened his mouth, then closed it again. Finally he answered: “I live here.”

“What, on this rooftop?” Frank slowly stepped closer, keeping a close eye on the other one's body language. The fact that the other man was still standing on that ledge made Frank's adrenaline spike.

“No. In this building.” He sounded tired. Defeated almost. Though that didn't keep him from asking: “How did you know it was me? I'm not wearing my suit.” A short, uncertain pause ensued, quietly followed by a confused: “Am I?”

Frank hesitated before taking another step. Red didn't seem to want to leave his post on the edge any time soon, by the looks of it. It also didn't help that he apparently wasn't aware of what was going on around him. “No. But I'm not an idiot.” The other man huffed. “You were my lawyer and I'd recognize that jawline anywhere. And your voice.”

“So now what?”

“Nothing. I've finished my business here. I was just … re-visiting some places.” He was nearly within arms-reach of the lawyer. He still couldn't explain why this entire situation was so unsettling for him, he was just following a hunch. A rather scary one at that. “And what are you doing up here? On the roof I mean. It's cold.”

“Really.” It wasn't a question. More like a fascinated statement. “Didn't notice. I'm just … thinking.”

“While standing on the very edge of a building?” Frank shook his head. 

“I wanted to listen to the city.” Red turned his body back towards the edge, hands lowered back to his sides. “Listen to all the sirens.”

“Well that sounds all romantic and shit, but now it's time for you to come back down.”

“Why?” A single word, and it sounded like a challenge to battle.

“Because I don't want you to throw yourself off the roof.”

The other man's body tensed again, a shaky scoff escaping him. “So what, you suddenly care about others?”

“Oh don't start with that bullshit again, Red!” Frank snapped. “We've been over this and have only discovered that the world sucks and we're trying to make it a little better. Whether we agree on the methods or not.” He took a chance and stepped even closer, until he was standing directly next to the vigilante. 

“You do realize that you won't be able to catch me if I do decide to jump, right?”

“Well I don't care about what you think I can and can't do, I'll just do it anyways.” 

“Good luck then.” The vigilante, the lawyer, the friend, the man without fear, leaned forward, until gravity finished his work and tipped him over the point of no return. 

Frank leaped forward, letting his reflexes do most of the work, both hands frantically reaching out for the other man, hoping more than knowing to catch him. 

His gasp filled the cool air when his fingers curled around Red's wrist, abruptly stopping his fall, his jump. His death. 

“Fuck!” Frank could feel his heart racing in his throat, as he tried to collect himself enough to get the other man back to safety. He propped himself up with his free hand, letting out a grunt when he pulled Red back up; and even then he didn't let go. He didn't pay any attention to it, but his hand had decided that the safest place for it to be, was on the vigilante's writs. “Why the fuck did you do that??” he yelled, once he'd gotten over the shock of what had just happened. “What the fuck, Red!”

The lawyer didn't answer. He just sat there, breathing heavily, silent tears streaming down his cheeks. His hands were shaking in the Punisher's tight grip. 

“Okay if you're not gonna talk to me, at least show me you apartment. I'm taking you there, whether you like it or not.” Frank let out an angry sigh. He was more scared than angry, if he was honest with himself, but being angry was simply easier. It kept his mind running. “And if you don't tell me, I swear I will knock on every door in the building.” He got to his feet and pulled the other man up with him, looking at him expectantly. He was still holding his wrist so tightly, his fingers started to hurt; but he wouldn't let go. He wouldn't let another friend die. If that's what they were. “So what's it gonna be, Red?”

Matt didn't answer. He didn't have to, didn't want to. Couldn't. Instead, he slowly walked towards the roof entrance, pulling Frank along. 

God didn't want him to live. He didn't want him to die either.


	4. Chapter 4

“Do you have somebody you can call?” Frank asked, after he'd more or less forcefully made Matt sit down on the couch. “Because if you don't, then I'm gonna spend the night here and I don't know if you'd like that a whole lot.”

Matt sighed. “I don't care.” About anything anymore. 

“I'm guessing your blond lawyer-friend is as good a person to call as any. Where's your phone?”

“Don't have one.” As long as he didn't have to feel the disappointment radiating off of Foggy, he was ready to lie about absolutely everything. At this point it didn't even matter any more. Nothing did. 

“Don't bullshit me, Red!” Frank snapped and pointed a finger at the other man. “Tell me, or I'll turn this entire apartment upside down!”

The vigilante lowered his head, debating whether or not to tell the other man. What choice did he have? None. As always. “Fine,” he finally replied. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, handing it to Frank. “Here.” He new his thoughts would soon pull him into his head and make him unable to function anymore; but deep down he knew it'd be easier to deal with if Foggy was here.

“Good.” The soldier unlocked the device and searched through the few contacts saved on it, until he found the name 'Foggy'. He dialled. It rang a few times before someone picked up.

“What?” came the sleepy, slightly grumpy question. 

“This is Frank,” said Frank.

“What??” The voice had changed into awake and alert in the fraction of a second. “Why do you have Matt's phone??”

“Because I'm in his apartment. He did something stupid and now I can't leave him alone.” Matt huffed at that in the background. It hadn't been stupid. Not in his mind, anyway. He'd made a calculated desicion and per usual, it hadn't worked out. 

“What's that supposed to mean?” Some shuffling came from the other end of the line, like somebody getting out of bed. “Did he go out again and got himself stabbed?”

“Not exactly. Just get here.” 

“I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what happened. How do I know you're not holding him hostage or something?”

“Wow. That's low, Nelson.” Frank shot Matt a short look. The guy didn't look too good. He sighed. “Listen. I just pulled your friend off the edge of a rooftop so I'd appreciate it, if you'd come here and babysit him for the night.”

There was silence on the other end. After a few moments, Foggy croaked a weak “I'm on my way” before hanging up.

Matt ran his hand through his hair. Foggy was upset, he was gonna get angry again, they'd fight, Foggy would be hurt, he'd blame himself, probably, and Matt could already feel the shame building up inside him. The shame of having tried and failed, the shame of knowing that now the person closest to him knew, too. Foggy was gonna judge him. Like he did with Daredevil, like he did with the scars. He wasn't even here yet, and Matt already wanted him to leave again. This was going to be a disaster and he knew it. He was sure, Frank knew it too. Sure, he didn't want to be alone with the crushing thoughts that were already taking up more and more space in his mind, but he couldn't handle any more shouting.

They sat in silence, until there was a knock on the door. Frank shot Matt another look, filled with something like pity, and got up to open. Matt could hear Foggy's heart skip a beat at the sight of the Punisher before him, but then he had himself under control again and pushed past him, getting closer to Matt, closer and closer, until he stood directly in front of him, followed by Frank, a little bit behind. 

Matt lifted his head with an empty smile. He might as well make this as short as possible. “Hi, Foggy.”

“Don't you 'Hi Foggy' me, Matt!” Foggy took a deep breath. “Can I sit?” He gestured at the couch Matt was currently occupying. 

Matt lifted an eyebrow in surprise but nodded and scooted over a little to make space. “Sure.” This was not what he'd expected. Though he supposed this was only the beginning. The night was long and as much as Foggy might try to stay calm, he probably wouldn't. Couldn't. After all, he'd had to go through some serious shit these past few days. 

Frank pointed over his shoulder at the roof access. “I'm gonna go sit on the roof to give you two some time to … talk.”

“You can leave, Frank,” Matt quickly said, hoping to get rid of at least one person that would look at him like a broken vase. 

“Nice try, Red. I brought coffee, so I'm not going anywhere until I can be sure Red has somebody to care for him.” He didn't give either of the other two man a chance to argue about it, by promptly disappearing up the stairs. 

Matt and Foggy sat in silence for a while, both trying to makes sense of their situation. Trying to find out how to go forward from this. Wondering if their already fragile friendship would survive another big hit like this. 

Eventually Foggy cleared his throat. “You uh … you wanna tell me what happened?”

Matt blinked and cocked his head, eyebrows drawn up in confusion. “Why?” There was no use in it. If he told the story, they'd probably end up fighting. But if he didn't, they'd also end up fighting. He drew a shattery breath. Panic was rising in his chest and he didn't like it. “What use would it have?”

“I'm your friend, Matt!” Foggy turned to look at the other man. “That's what friends do.”

“I …” Matt hesitated at that. “I didn't think we still were.”

“Why, because you fucked up?” Foggy let out an annoyed huff. “I may be pissed at you, but that doesn't mean I don't still care about you.” After a short pause he added: “You know that right?”

“Obviously I do not,” the vigilante drily replied. Being an ass was easier than falling apart. “I was more under the impression that you only stayed out of pity. Because of the cuts.”

“That's bullshit.” It seemed to dawn on him then, that Matt had a pretty warped view of how friendships worked. “I'm still your friend. And a good friend stays; regardless of whether or not there was a fight. I think you did, what you thought was the right thing to do. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't; neither of us can judge that now. And one day I'll forgive you for that, I just need time to process that. But that doesn't mean that I'm not here for you when you need me. I think wanting to throw yourself off of a rooftop counts as needing me. Or at least some kind of support.”

Matt remained silent for a while. He couldn't tell if Foggy was serious or not. Sure, he'd listened to the other one's heartbeat and it had been steady the whole time, but still. It just seemed too good to be true. And besides that, Foggy didn't even know the whole story. Probably why he wanted to know it. Finally, he spoke up again. “I didn't just think about it,” he quietly offered.

“What do you mean?” Foggy asked anxiously, his heart-rate picking up its pace. 

This time Matt cleared his throat in an attempt to get rif of the lump forming there. “I jumped. But Frank caught my wrist and pulled me up again.”

Foggy let out an audible gasp at that, his eyes growing wide in shock. “Fuck,” he muttered. “Fucking hell, Matt!”

The vigilante pulled his knees up to his chest and nodded. “Yeah I know. You think it's awful that I did that, you think it's terrifying, you probably think I should see a therapist and all that.” He shrugged weakly. “But it's not really.” He heard the blond's breathing change, as if he wanted to say something, but he cut him off before he got a chance: “I tried it. It didn't work. And now it's over.”

“It's not that simple!” Foggy retorted, his voice growing loud with fear and worry. “You could have died!”

“I didn't.” He looked at Foggy. “And besides, I could have died plenty of times before today.”

“Yeah, and I would have been equally upset! It just makes it worse, that you'd … that you'd seek it out like that.” He shook his head, sadness clear in his voice. “That makes it so much worse.”

Matt could sense the change of emotion in the other man, could sense the sorrow rolling off of him in waves. He sighed. “I'm not gonna do it again, if you're worried about that. I tried, I failed, it seems like God doesn't want me to die.”

Foggy snivelled, angrily trying to keep his tears inside. He failed spectacularly. “I just want my friend back,” he whispered shakily. “I just want things to go back to the way they were.”

Matt started crying now, too, he didn't even attempt to fight it. He'd been trying for too long to keep his emtions inside. “Me too,” he mumbled, hand fidgeting with the fabric of his pants. 

It took barely a second for Foggy to decide 'Fuck it' and wrap his arms around his friend, holding him close, holding him tight, feeling both their sobs shaking their bodies. “I'm so sorry you feel this way.”

Matt could only nod to that, unable to form proper words through the tears. He couldn't explain how, but he could feel a dark and heavy weight being lifted from his heart, making it a little easier to breath. 

For a long time they sat like this, simply holding each other, crying out the rollercoaster of emotions that had been the past few days, until finally Foggy firmly said: “I'm your friend. And I love you as my friend.”

Another heart-wrenching sob fought its way up Matt's throat as he croaked: “I love you too.” They spent the night on the couch, simply finding comfort in the other one's presence, until finally Matt had cried himself to exhaustion. His head slid down from the couch until it was resting on Foggy's shoulder, who managed a shaky smile and ran a hand through the dark mess of hair. They might still have a long way to go, but at least now they knew that they could get to a point where they could be best friends again. At least now they knew they were going to be okay. After all, Nelson & Murdock was too good of a combination to just throw in the trash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm thinking this could be the last chapter, unless y'all want another one. 
> 
> Please let me know in the comments how you liked it. I hope my writing has improved since chapter one, but I can feel myself slowly finding my style again. Like I said, it's been a while :)


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